


Next Week's Another Thing

by DiefaceJohnson



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Belly Rubs, F/M, Fitz is kinda rude, Fluff, Kafka References, PMS, formatting fixed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-14
Updated: 2014-06-14
Packaged: 2018-02-04 16:13:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1785286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DiefaceJohnson/pseuds/DiefaceJohnson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jemma is having a bad time of the month, but Trip is there to lend a helping hand.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Next Week's Another Thing

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry if this sucks, it was in my head and I figured I may as well upload it.

"Jemma, could you please stop your moanin' and hand me that soldering iron? Today, if you don't mind."

Jemma drops the hands that she'd been using to massage her temples and turns to glare at Fitz, who hasn't bothered to look up from his project _or_ to pause in his demands of Jemma to hand him this tool or that in almost an hour. Instead of responding, she stares at Fitz until it becomes clear that he'll need to look back or risk having a hole burned in the side of his head.

"Stop my moaning?" she demands when he finally looks her way. "Fitz, I've got a splitting headache, my breasts hurt whenever I have to lean across the workbench to get something--always for you, by the way--and my uterus is literally tearing off a whole layer of tissue and trying to force it out of me right now. And all I said was 'Why me.' Muttered, really. Meanwhile, you stubbed your toe last week and I had to hear you talk about how it was going to _fall off_ for two whole days!" She's yelling a bit at the end, but she can't find it in her to care about that.

Fitz looks a little shell shocked, but then he opens his mouth and says, "So...will you pass me the soldering iron, then?" and Jemma just can't take it anymore. With an annoyed groan, Jemma turns on her heel and exits the lab.

She heads upstairs and throws herself down on one of the couches in the common area, an action she immediately regrets when she squashes her sore boobs against the cushions. She makes a completely undignified whining noise and rolls over onto her side to face the back of the couch, glad that she doesn't have to hear Fitz complain about her moaning and groaning anymore. She can suffer alone in peace.

Except she can't be alone, because now that she's paying attention there's the soft sound of laughter coming from behind her. Face burning, Jemma slowly turns over to face the other direction.

Antoine Triplett sits in one of the chairs across from the couch, an open book in hand. He's not looking at her, eyes scanning the pages in front of him, but there's no mistaking the laughter he's emitting.

"I didn't know that The Metamorphosis was a comedy," she says, rankled by his laughter. Who gave him the right to sit there, looking all effortlessly attractive and reading classic literature, while she looks and feels like Hell?

He replies, "It isn't, but it's hard not to be startled into a laugh or two when the nicest and most sensible girl you know suddenly storms into the room and collapses onto the furniture like a disgruntled Shakespearean actress." Jemma wants to admit that it's a little funny, but instead of the small laugh she wants to give, the noise that comes out of her mouth is more like a dry sob because GOD she is in pain. She clutches her abdomen.

Trip's expression is suddenly the opposite of amused and very much concerned. "What's wrong Jems?" he asks, smile gone. He comes to kneel by the couch, dropping his book at his feet. People are supposed to appear less attractive when they frown, she knows, but Trip's troubled expression and furrowed brow just make Jemma want to wrap him in a hug even though she's the one hurting. He reaches out and runs a hand up and down her upper arm.

It's not nearly as easy to list off her symptoms now that she's not raging at Fitz, but she tells Trip how she feels anyway. In a less graphic, slightly more clinical fashion, of course. She begins, "My head is pounding, my abdomen is aching, my back may as well be broken it hurts so badly, and I'm having some serious tenderness in my breasts, among...other places..." His eyes lose their fear as she goes on and he nods with understanding. When she trails off at the end he may smirk a bit, but she doesn't get to look at the expression long because as soon as he's sure she's finished speaking Trip stands and walks away from the couch.

"You're leaving me, then?" she asks, disappointed. She'd rather liked having him so close.

"Not for long," he assures her, over his shoulder.

He leaves the room and Jemma decides to rest her eyes while she waits for him to return. She hears his footsteps maybe ten minutes later and looks up at his approach. He's returned carrying a bottle of water, a pill bottle, and a steaming mug of what smells like camomile tea. He might be the man of her dreams.

He comes to stand by her again and asks her to sit up. "Just for a moment," he promises when she looks dubious. She does as asked and her head threatens to pound more once she's vertical. He quickly sets the contents of his hands on the floor and sits beside her, where her head had been. He grasps her shoulders and gently guides her back down, this time in a reclining position rather than curled in on herself. Her head rests on his lap.

He reaches down to retrieve the pills and the water once she's settled. She takes the water from him while he pops the cap on the small medicine bottle one-handed and shakes a couple of pills into his palm. "Ibuprofen," he explains as he hands them over to Jemma.

She smiles in thanks and then sits up just enough to swallow the pills and wash them down with a few sips from the water bottle. When she's done, she watches as Trip takes the bottle from her and sets it back on the ground.

Then he looks down at her and says, "I'm about to unbutton your shirt," which she completely wasn't expecting. He looks deadly serious, but also deadly sexy, and Jemma can't remember how to speak in a situation like this so she just nods her head lamely. "Close your eyes," he instructs, so she does.

She feels his hand at the hem of her shirt, undoing the bottom button with a slow, precise movement of his fingers. He's probably got loads of experience helping women disrobe, Jemma thinks idly. How could he not?

She relaxes as he goes along, enjoying the brief brushes of his knuckles against her aching belly. It doesn't cross her mind to worry that they're in a very public area of the Bus until Trip undoes the last button just below the swell of her breasts, at which point she suddenly becomes very aware of where they are. She stiffens with apprehension thinking that she might die of embarrassment if she were seen in such an inappropriate position. Trip notices and removes his hand from her blouse. He says, "Don't worry, this is as far as I was planning to go," and she can hear him smiling around the words. She untenses a bit at that, feeling silly, but then he goes on to say, "I'll get there next time, when we have a little more privacy and you're a little less tender there...and in other places." Which, of course, makes something very different from apprehension curl up inside of her. She opens her eyes to look up at him in surprise, praying she doesn’t appear too hopeful, but he looks back at her like he means every word he's said. He gives her a wide smile before gently ordering her to close her eyes again. "Give them some rest until the medicine kicks in."

She shuts her eyelids, but pokes her tongue out at him for being bossy, earning a low chuckle from him. He brushes the unbuttoned portions of her shirt to either side of her body, exposing her abdomen, and then he sets his hand on her belly and begins rubbing in slow circles.  

"Mmmm," Jemma sighs, feeling near instant relief from her horrid cramps. It's an amazing and strange feeling, lying here with Trip's hand passing soothingly over her stomach. She's comforted, reminded of when she would get tummy aches as a small girl and her mother would fix her tea and rub her stomach until she felt better. However, where her mum's hands had been small and delicate, Trip's are large and strong and marked with strategically developed calluses that scratch lightly against the soft skin of her belly while the rest of his palm smooths. Her mother's lap was soft and she wore a distinctly feminine scent that Jemma could still call to mind today if she tried, but Trip's thighs, beneath her head, are thick and corded, still comfortable but not cushy. When she turns her head and presses her face to his belly he smells like woodsmoke and amber and vanilla, and she wants to wrap herself in his scent. Everything is so completely Trip, and it's utterly arousing in a way that only adds to the comfort that she's feeling.

She begins to drift, all of Trip's warmth and the friction from his hand threatening to make her melt into him. Though it feels like she's been lying here forever it's probably a matter of minutes before Trip is speaking to her again, telling her that she has to sit up and drink her tea before it gets cold. Jemma snuggles closer to him, burying her face in his dark t-shirt. She doesn't want to sit up and risk having her headache increase tenfold so she makes a quiet excuse to stay right where she is. He can't hear her because she's so muffled by his belly, though.

"What was that?" Trip laughs. "You'll have to speak up, Jems, I can't understand you."

She huffs a sigh and looks up at his stupid handsome face. Her voice takes on a whining tone. "I don't want to sit up right now...possibly never. My head hurts worse when I'm sitting up." She even pouts a bit but Trip isn't having it.

"Does your head hurt at all right now?" he asks.

"Now that you mention it, no..." Her cramps had subsided too. When had that happened?

"See, all you needed was to take a break to relax and let the medicine work its magic," he tells her. "Now, to seal the deal, I need you to sit up and drink the tea that I painstakingly prepared for you in the microwave, okay?"

Jemma does as told because Trip hasn't led her wrong so far, propping herself up against his chest. She's pleased when her headache doesn't return. Trip leans down a little to pick up the mug of tea and hands it to Jemma, who takes it in both hands. The sides are still warm, though steam is no longer rising from the top.

She sips the drink and though it isn't the best tea she's ever had, it certainly isn't bad. She smiles over her shoulder at Trip and he smiles back. His hand returns to its place on her belly, his thumb lazily stroking back and forth across her bellybutton.

They sit in a comfortable silence for a bit as she drinks from the large mug until she gathers herself to ask, between sips, "Could you--Would you read to me? I know it's childish, but I haven't read The Metamorphosis in ages--"

"Of course," Trip cuts her off. "One question, though."

"Mm?"

"Should I just pick up where I left off, or do you want me to start at the beginning?"

She opts for the beginning, so Trip flips back to page one and reads aloud, "One morning, when Gregor Samsa woke from troubled dreams, he found himself transformed in his bed into a monstrous vermin..." He has a nice reading voice, and she listens intently as he tells the story, sipping at her tea and enjoying the feel of his chest vibrating with his words against her back.

They're sitting like that, her tea finished and the mug long forgotten on the floor at Trip's feet, when they're interrupted. Quick, faint footsteps are the only warning they have before Coulson and May walk into the common area in the middle of a hushed conversation. A hushed conversation which stops as soon as the two senior agents spot Jemma and Trip on the couch.

May's raised eyebrow is enough to set Jemma's cheeks ablaze, but she doesn't look away. She's rather proud of herself for that.

"What's...going on here?" Coulson asks, looking like he isn't sure he wants to know the answer but he knows he has to ask anyway. His eyes dart down to where Trip's hand is still pressed flat to Jemma's stomach then back up to her eyes.

"We're reading," Trip states, as if it’s as simple as that. He holds up his paperback. "The Metamorphosis."

Coulson nods slowly, turning his gaze on Trip. "Good book," he says.

"One of the classics," Trip agrees, and Jemma can hear the easy smile in his voice. "Jemma wasn't feeling well today so I'm taking care of her."

"Uh-huh."

May and Coulson exchange glances and seem to decide it's not worth getting involved. They move to head down to the lower level, but Coulson pauses on the way out. Without turning around, he says, "Just, if it gets any more hands on than this, please do not 'take care of her' on that couch. Or anywhere else I usually sit for that matter."

"Not a problem, boss," Trip says, dutifully.

Jemma waits until she can't hear his retreating footsteps anymore before she mutters, "At least not this week." She looks over her shoulder at Trip, meets his surprised smile with one of her own. "After that, I can't make any promises."


End file.
